


When the Sun Met the Stars

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Mazelinka appears also, Nadia route endgame, references to Portia's tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Portia and Natiqa set sail on a diplomatic mission. With Nahara accompanying them, Portia’s first negotiations must be with her own heart.





	When the Sun Met the Stars

The sun's warmth softens the breeze tossing Portia's curls over her chilly shoulders. She spits out a lock of hair as she bats the rest away from her face. So much for her pirate novel’s glamorous descriptions of people watching the sea. 

Nahara hands her a black ribbon. It's practical—plain and made of surprisingly strong material. "Thanks," Portia mumbles as she ties back her hair. In her head, Nahara was going to see her as a beautiful sailor, not a mess. _Definitely gotta shelve that novel_ , she thinks.  

It's not like she had time to read before coming on board. After her quiet life in Nevivon, she's startled at how she got used to Vesuvia’s bustle.

Natiqa puts it to words, as apt as ever. "Ah, sailing, always so mentally stimulating." She hops off the barrel she's sitting on to let Nahara at it.

"You could be useful. Check the rigging, or get in the crow's nest," Nahara says, hoisting the barrel over one shoulder. Portia gawks.

_God, I wish that were me_.

"Little old me? I'd blow away. But I think I'll ask about the navigation." Natiqa flits away, and Portia fits into her spot with a cat’s fluidity.

"I'll help with whatever you need, Your Highness. I know my way around a ship," Portia says.

"I remember. It is good to have you as a traveling companion again. And you may call me Nahara, for old time’s sake." Her smile make Portia's stomach do flips, even though now—over a year later—she's not new to the sea, or to spending time with princesses.

_You're a chancellor. Keep it together._ This is supposed to be a simple mission to establish a diplomatic relationship, no wars to end or anything that would keep her away from Vesuvia longer than necessary. She keeps reciting her checklist of duties back home before remembering it's out of her hands.

She claps to disperse her thoughts. "Absolutely! It's nice to have such capable hands around," Portia says, unable to bring herself to call a princess by name.

"Likewise. Would you bring that crate?"

Portia doesn't lift it with Nahara's grace, but she carries it without strain. "I see you’ve kept up with your training," Nahara says, appraising Portia’s arms. Portia chews her lip. 

"Well, my old job meant a lot of lifting and keeping people in line, but I haven't had time for the proper stretches and all." It sounds weak. Someone like Nahara would make time.

"I see. In that case, you are welcome to join me in the morning. Natiqa sleeps too late to interrupt."

"I'd love to!"

When she signed up for this job, one of the most exciting—and reassuring—parts was Nahara asking to come along, planning to seek a famous martial artist. With Vesuvia pulling itself out of crisis mode, Natiqa developed big plans to strengthen its relations with Prakra. Though the empire is too far, she’s arranged a meeting point.

At Nahara's direction, Portia delivers the crate to Mazelinka, who starts fishing through the supplies for dinner. The three settle into a comfortable rhythm preparing ingredients. Nahara's presence, as steady as it was on their last voyage together, makes the differences between the trips starker. No chasing after her fugitive brother—he's working at the palace, and Portia has her own job, something important and exciting. A real adventure on the high seas.

She removes fish scales with care, not wanting to cut herself on the rocking ship, but she can't help the excitement building in her like a gale.

* * *

At dawn, the sun resembles Portia's hair more than Nahara's. Thanks to her job, waking early comes naturally, but at the palace she doesn't have time to appreciate the view. Then again, even the gardens aren't as beautiful as Nahara stretching, her muscles backlit with orange. 

Portia thinks about Nahara's guiding hands on her back and arms the last time they did this. She remembers the formations, thanks in part to Nadia’s similar routine and in part to muscle memory. She should have been practicing. There's no telling how many hiding places she could have fit into at the palace with even more flexibility, but her days of hiding are over.

Though she can't imagine focusing with Nahara there, she loses herself in the movements, the burn in her legs, and the calmness in her mind like its waves have halted. The numbness only pervades her for a moment after she stands.

"Let's spar! I've gotten good at hand-to-hand," she says. Looking amused, Nahara stands more slowly, like each muscle glides into place.

"Never lacking for energy, are you? Good."

They get into position. Nahara eyes Portia like she can size up every weakness. Portia has watched her fight; she's precise, not letting battles escalate into unnecessary harm. One strike at a point to stun an opponent, or the quickest path to a grapple. For someone who studies martial arts, she has no love for violence. Despite the adrenaline already kicking in, Portia feels safer sparring her than doing anything else at sea.

Portia tries to summon that well of focus she just developed. With an opponent like Nahara, she can use her center of gravity to get leverage. That thought lasts until their palms lock. Portia digs in her heels before loosening her grip, going for a feint, only for Nahara to grapple her down to the ground. Her knees hit the deck, her heart thundering at Nahara's firm hold, her body seeming to shield Portia even as it restrains her. She rises and helps Portia up.

"That move would have worked on a less observant opponent," Nahara says. "Let's try again."

* * *

When the chores are done, Portia and Natiqa play cards below deck—not for real stakes, at Nahara's warning.

"I wouldn't take advantage of our cute friend. We'll make bets for how many questions the loser has to answer, how's that?" Natiqa asks. Portia recognizes the mischief in her eye, but she can't resist. Thanks to Mazelinka and Ilya, Portia can wipe the floor with most pirates.

But not Natiqa. Portia studies their final hands in disbelief. "You're one of the first opponents to make Natiqa sweat," Nahara says. Though her admiration sounds genuine, it barely softens the blow.

"Best two out of three," Portia says. How many attempts can it take to learn Natiqa's tells?

"All negotiations are final. We ended the betting at five questions, yes?" Natiqa says, folding her hands under her chin. Portia is acutely aware of Nahara attending to her answers.

Thankfully, the first question is simple: Portia's favorite thing about Nevivon. She relaxes as she describes the square where she and the other kids ran around like one big family. Nahara nods, her smile approving.

But Natiqa knows how to ramp up pressure. Portia skirts around admitting her clumsiest moment, not mentioning the window her child self broke with her slingshot or the plate she dropped when Nadia announced the masquerade's purpose. Has Nahara ever even stubbed a toe? By the time the fifth question arrives, she's more scared than relieved.

Natiqa leans forward, cocking her head. "What's your type?"

"My type?"

"You know, who fires your loins?"

"Don't be crass," Nahara says. Portia refuses to look at her. She can't tell if she imagines Nahara's rapt attention.

"What's the point of having a type, anyway?" Portia asks with a fake-sounding laugh. _Ugh_. "Lots of people are cute."

"You'll make an excellent politician," Natiqa says, "but I know non-answers when I hear them." She waves at the cards still on the table.

Portia wrings her skirt. "They have to be competent. I've fixed enough people's messes for one lifetime." At the thought, she rolls her eyes, loosening up. "Someone kind and reliable, who I can trust. And a babe, obviously." She bites her tongue before she can elaborate. _Tall, nice arms, warm eyes._

Natiqa sweeps up the cards. "That's not exactly juicy, but ah well, a deal's a deal. In return for your trouble, I'll answer questions for Nahara."

"That does not follow," Nahara says.

"I'm an ambassador. It's my job to speak for people."

Nahara stands and grabs the staff leaning against the wall. "Diligence speaks for itself. I'll be training, if anyone needs me."

Once she's left, Natiqa scoots closer to Portia. "Well? Offer's open. I'll give you a freebie: she used to get horribly seasick. And then trained herself out of it, according to her. I’m sure Nazali just gave her something for it."

As much as Portia loves gossip, Nahara clearly wants her actions to speak for themselves. Besides, it takes some of the joy out of getting Nahara to share bits of her life. Portia takes back the deck of cards.

"You're just trying to keep yourself out of the hot seat. Best two out of three," she says again, knowing Natiqa won't refuse.

* * *

Their morning training becomes routine. Other routines fall into place, as they try to work around each other's tasks without parting company. Sometimes Nahara sits crossed-legged to meditate, her eyes closed and her lips parted with even breaths, and Portia has to close her own eyes not to stare at the sun shining off Nahara's cheeks. Her own attempt to meditate leads to her feet twitching and her skin crawling with imaginary bugs. Instead, she does chores on deck, a rhythm that soothes her in its own way. 

Some days, that comfortable silence remains until the crew gathers, and Nahara’s rich voice joins sea shanties. Other days, Nahara helps Portia with her work or invites her to sit and chat. Pepi oozes into their laps at every chance—Nahara's most often, it seems, with how gently she handles Pepi. Portia isn't sure which one to envy.

Whenever possible, Portia asks for Nahara's travel stories. She describes islands with thriving jungles and cities thought lost to time while Pepi purrs beneath her palm. Portia imagines adventuring at Nahara's side, stopping bandits and climbing mountains so high the entire world stretches below them.

"Every place has something to teach. The important thing is to use that knowledge for good, wherever one ends up," Nahara says.

It reminds Portia of something Nadia's wife said about tarot. _The Sun is always a positive sight._ Watching Nahara, she can believe it.

* * *

One morning, Portia wakes so early that Nahara's hair isn't yet braided. The last time she saw Nahara's hair down, they were at the masquerade, and Nahara was wringing the water from a swim out of it. Portia thought she would expire when Nahara invited her to join, but she found herself relaxing in the water as they raced, splashed each other, and floated.  

Now, the sight of Nahara's hair around her shoulders, creating a wave against the shaved pattern on her head, makes Portia's breath catch again.

_It's just hair. You used to handle hair every day._ Portia imagines taking care of Nahara that way, the tiniest favor to repay her for her help.

When Portia mentions it, Nahara welcomes the idea. "I usually do it myself, but Nadia has spoken highly of your braiding." She shifts so Portia can kneel behind her, upright on her knees to reach. The hair feels thick against her palms. It’s no wonder Nahara shaved off some of that weight. Portia weaves it with care, feeling Nahara’s back muscles relax against her fingers.

Nahara inspects the final braid, which is tight enough she won't have to waste time redoing it. "Thank you," she says.

"Anytime," Portia says, and means it. She could start every day like this, spending time together and helping each other out.

With an ache, she remembers rare mornings when Mazelinka would stay in Nevivon. She and Lilinka started the day in the kitchen, shoulder-to-shoulder over the stove, like they had all the time in the world.

She fiddles with the ribbon Nahara lent her and watches the sun rise for its usual cycle.

* * *

Portia reads whenever possible. In her cabin, she focuses on a book of Prakran law, but on deck she continues her pirate novel.

"Nazali—I mean, Dr. Satrinava taught me to read," she explains when Nahara asks. "It, um, wasn't that long ago. I still need practice."

For a government official, that feels shameful, but Nahara makes no sign of agreeing. "I respect your dedication. Would you read me a passage?"

"Sure!" The tale of swashbuckling adventure takes its heroes all across the sea, settings that seem up Nahara's alley. However, as Portia reads, she remembers what scene she's on. "The pirate brushed her lady's silken tresses aside to whisper huskily in her ear. 'Let's continue this below deck.'"

Portia's reading becomes breathless with anticipation. She catches Nahara's eye and snaps the book shut.

"Wait, um, I just got past the best part, let me find it again," Portia says.

She reads about a ship battle without absorbing the words. Though she expects Nahara’s eyes to close, she finds them trained on her. She returns the gaze in silent question, and Nahara tucks a strand of Portia’s hair behind her ear, slow and careful. Portia holds her breath as warmth spreads down her jaw.

“You read well,” Nahara says. “You have nothing to worry about.” Abruptly, she stands and heads below deck, leaving Portia to remember how to breathe.

* * *

As they approach land, Nahara grows quieter, getting right to work after their morning training. Portia almost wonders if she imagined their long conversations and tender touches, a dream to pass time at sea.

On the final day, Portia unfolds the green, gold-embroidered tunic Nadia gave her to wear at her meeting. The fabric ripples like water in her hands. It's hard to believe politicians will train their eyes and ears on her, instead of ignoring her while she eavesdrops. What would Nahara think of Portia’s preferred tactics?

Holding the tunic over her chest, she straightens her shoulders in imitation of the princess. She clears her throat and deepens her voice. "Why, you drive a hard bargain, Ms. Prakran Politican, but I think you and Mr. Fancypants will agree that..."

A knock interrupts her monologue. She squeaks and clutches the fabric as she invites in the visitor. At the sight of Nahara, a hint of amusement on her otherwise stoic face, Portia squeaks again.

"Nahara! Perfect timing. I wasn't doing anything."

_Good going, channeling Ilya when Nahara's right outside_.

"The energy on deck was lacking. I thought to check on you." Nahara remains near the door like a guard, but her smile betrays the effect.

"That's sweet of you. I'm just passing time."

Nahara nods at the garment Portia forgot she was holding. "It suits you. Are you prepared for your meeting?"

Portia doesn't have time to bask in the compliment. "I think so. This is all just so new."

"Expanding your horizons is admirable. You will do fine, or you will learn. The second is more rewarding."

Refolding the tunic is second nature, both soothing Portia and making her more conflicted about her role. "I don't know if Vesuvia can afford my learning process. I really want to make Milady proud."

Nahara steps into the cabin to place a hand on Portia's shoulder. Even with the floor rocking beneath her feet, the solid touch grounds her. "She is already proud. Natiqa still frets before presentations, and she has yet to disappoint us."

"That's right, there's nothing to worry about. The three of us are an unstoppable team. We're gonna wipe the floor with this."

To her surprise, Portia's speech sobers Nahara. "I will have to hear all about it later. I'm departing as soon as we reach port."

Portia's heart sinks into the ocean. She forgot Nahara would leave to trek into the mountains, or wherever the martial master she’s seeking hides. "You can't hang around for even a bit?"

"My journey will be long, and I am not trained in wordplay. Don't worry. Natiqa is clever enough for both of us." For once, her smile doesn't shine.

"I know, I just..." _Don't be selfish, Portia. She's a princess. You've already taken up her time._ "I'll miss you."

Nahara searches her face, seeming unbalanced for the first time. "We will see each other again."

Despite her flat tone, it seems like it's supposed to be encouraging, so Portia only agrees.

"I must return to my training," Nahara says, and leaves before Portia can say more.

* * *

"Ooh, she must really be taken with you," Natiqa says.

She sits cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by scrolls. At a loss, Portia finally cashed in her _ask about Nahara_ offer. None of her attempts to shove aside their awkward conversation had worked. Avoiding someone on a ship should be impossible, but Nahara seemed vacant at dinner that day, like her thoughts were circling with the gulls above. She excused herself as soon as she finished.

At Natiqa's verdict, Portia splutters. "Taken? This isn't funny. She's ignoring me! And I thought..." Portia swallows, trying to forget Nahara’s touch. "I thought we were getting along so well."

"Oh, you are. She can almost see the beach on the horizon, so she has to get ready to sprint. Put a mountain between her and her heart, you know? Now, do you have any idea which of these scrolls has our itinerary? If it's lost I'll have to have words with whoever organized these, and I'm pretty sure it was me."

Grateful for the distraction, Portia picks through the scrolls, though reading still takes too much concentration. "You mean, she's afraid of getting hurt?" She certainly knows people who put up walls. It just confounds her to think Nahara might feel the need with her, of all people.

"Like I said. She's smitten. Navra was offended that I bet against her doing anything about it, but I like to win bets, and I've seen this before." Natiqa's sharp gaze flicks up from her document. "Though, I can't remember her being this fond. Losing can be interesting, too."

They bet on this? _Before_ the trip? Portia didn’t even dream of having a chance back then. And now that the journey's almost at an end, she might have missed it.

If only Ilya were here with a pep talk or a story to distract her. _No_. She's a chancellor; she can do this without him, and talk her way through any conflict. She sets down the scrolls and squares her shoulders again. There's only one person who will know what to do.

* * *

Portia catches Mazelinka swabbing the deck. At Portia's request, she joins Portia in the captain's quarters, bringing her mop with her. She resumes cleaning while Portia picks up Mazelinka's old pirate hat and turns it around in her hands.

"What do you do when you care about someone, but you can't always be with them?" Portia asks.

Mazelinka sets the mop against the wall. "You promise to return to them, of course." She pulls a necklace out of her shirt. Seeing Lilinka's seal on its token tugs at Portia's heart. "Oh, the wait isn't easy. Sometimes, you wonder what you're doing, lollygagging about with ruffians at sea when you could sit around the hearth with people you love."

All that time as a child, waiting for Mazelinka's visits, Portia wished she could go on adventures with her. It hadn't occurred to her that Mazelinka would long for the opposite. Portia wants to hug her, but she knows better than to interrupt one of Mazelinka’s stories.

"My work kept the seas around Nevivon safe and its poor fed. Whenever I doubted myself, I thought about where Lilinka and her charges would be without that." She tucks the necklace back into her shirt, over her heart, and Portia can't help but throw her arms around Mazelinka's neck. "Oh, stop that, I'm too old." She pats Portia's back anyway.

"Old? The dread pirate Mazelinka?" Portia asks with a grin. Grunting, Mazelinka swats her away.

"I'm definitely too old." She picks up her mop, flinging water droplets by hoisting it over her shoulder. "It'll work out. People who wander are looking for something. Sometimes, they find something they'll always want to wander back to."

Portia's eyes sting from more than salty air. She rubs them before she can make a mess of herself. She has one more meeting to attend.

* * *

Only the gilded horizon betrays that the sun is there, hiding just out of view. A few stars stud the darkening canvas like the goosebumps on Portia's bare shoulders. She follows the light to where Nahara stands watching the sea.   

"Portia. I was just about to head to bed." The second the sun goes down, Nahara always leaves with it, a part of her strict routine. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes. I mean, no, I mean—um, Nahara, do you want to stay a minute and look at the stars with me?"

"The stars?"

"You're always missing them. They're really beautiful at sea." Too late, she remembers that with Nahara's travels, she's already seen everything. "You... you must know a lot of constellations."

"Most of them from books, though I prefer to see things with my own eyes." She takes up a position beside Portia against the railing. In the dim light, Portia thinks she sees Nahara smile. "You are very persuasive." 

"I have to be, I'm a little sister. And a chancellor, that too.”

Nahara chuckles, quiet but warm. "Both good things to be."

They settle into silence while the last sliver of light leaves. Portia imagines it's reached land and embarked on a new adventure. A thousand stars wink in to play, one for every question buzzing beneath her skin.

"You're right. I rarely see this, even though it happens every night," Nahara says. "The sun and the stars can't hang together in the sky."

"Maybe they should. The world would be so bright, evildoers wouldn't have anywhere to hide."

"Your mind is a wonder."

Portia can't tell if she's being mocked, but when her eyes adjust to the light she sees Nahara smiling down at her. She builds up her courage, drawing from the well Natiqa uses to speak with diplomats and Nahara uses to set sail into unfamiliar lands.

"If you don't mind, I'd really love to see you again. I mean, I assumed you would visit Vesuvia because Milady and Princess Natiqa are there, and of course I'll be there, but what I mean is..."

Nahara's calloused hand lifts Portia's chin, solid but careful, and all the breath exits Portia's lungs. Nahara studies her before leaning down, stopping inches from her face. "Is this what you mean?"

"Yeep, yep, yes—"

Full lips press against hers. She loses herself in them as a hand glides to the small of her back, guiding her closer. She stands on her toes to wrap her arms around Nahara's neck, anchored while floating, and she forgets the night was ever cold.

They part, Portia gasping like she's breaking the water's surface. Nahara looks her up and down with a rakish grin. "Let's not ruin our necks." She scoops up Portia, and Portia giggles, hoping Nahara will carry and spin her.

Nahara has better plans. She sets Portia on a barrel to kiss her, holding her waist steady while the sea ebbs and flows around them. The barrel’s rim presses against Portia’s thighs. It hardly matters with everywhere they touch, their slow explorations building pressure beneath her skin, the beginnings of a whirlpool.

Before it can churn, Nahara breaks the contact.

"Nahara…"

Nahara's thumb brushes her lip. "Adventurers must be flexible. I don't know when my path will cross yours."

"I know," Portia says, drooping. "But it will." She strokes the fuzz behind Nahara's ear, then continues down her braid. The ribbon Nahara lent her is tied around her own wrist. She pulls back to undo it, waving it between them. "Besides, until you visit, you won't get to see this again!"

Nahara stares without recognition before it seems to click. She leans back in. "A hostage? What cruel tactics you employ, Chancellor."

Though it's dark, Portia feels Nahara's smile against her ear, brimming with sunshine.


End file.
